Save Tonight, Please Fight The Break of Dawn
by Shakespeare-Rut
Summary: "So this is what he meant?" He was trying to save me, not hurt me... Pre-Fall and Post-Fall. How things got to post-fall. What's happening post-fall. Mostly John Watson's P.O.V so far. How John is dealing with things. I hope you enjoy it! I appreciate reviews and criticism. :) I also do not own ANYTHING to do with Sherlock. This will become a trigger. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

It was just the feeling of wanting to be loved; the feeling of wanting to be wanted. I had never had this feeling before, but here I was, lying in my bathtub wanting to be wanted. It was unnatural, especially for me. I wasn't the type of man who strived to be wanted or loved. I wasn't the type of man who had women or men look at me and I wasn't the type who necessarily wanted women or men to look at me for any reason. But there was that one guy, that one guy who ruined it all. He took my heart out of my body and decided to hold onto it and keep it. He had said it himself, "Look what I have done to you! I've stolen your heart, as you have stolen mine. And I have no intent of getting it back or giving yours back." And so it was. But here we were, I in my bathtub and him off somewhere in no man's land. I hadn't seen him in a few months. They were the longest months of my life. I hadn't heard from him, I hadn't felt him, I didn't even know if he was still alive.

I was the type of guy who worried about everything, even without realizing it. I cared about those who didn't care about me and I cared for the people who needed to be cared for the most. I loved everyone and all I wanted to do was make sure everyone knew they were loved. As Kurt Vonnegut said in his book, _The Sirens of Titan,_ "A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved." So I did. From my dearest friends to the homeless man living on the corner, I just had to tell them they were loved. I had to show them someone cared. I had to show them hope in a hopeless world. This world, this very pathetic, lonely world. This world longed for the attention the most, but was given it the least.

I'm not going to lie, though. Life does get challenging at times. Sometimes it seems it gets more hectic and chaotic than others, but it's a steady flow of balance too. No matter what I do, I try to keep myself in the balance. It would seem as if I am over emotional, right-brained, and a deep thinker. That means a few different things that I didn't catch on to until I was older. It showed me that when things were not in the balance, I became touchy and I cried a lot. If I didn't shed a river of tears, I laughed or became angry, I hid in my room for days or I was never home. Depending on what side of the spectrum I was on significantly affected my mood and ability to do anything, that's why when I was out of equilibrium, it took me months to get back to normal, whatever normal was.

Caring, loving, being a deep thinker, right-brained, and over-emotional was who I was. I wasn't going to try to change that, but it got me into trouble so many times. It has caused me so many heartaches and heartbreaks; it caused a lot of happiness, even in unhappy situations; it caused me to feel when I thought I couldn't; it taught me compassion, passion, kindness, affection, and sympathy. Most importantly, it taught me how to accept people for who they are no matter their past or present, because they will always have a clean future. It taught me how accept people for every flaw, fear and failure. It taught me how to help people and it showed me to do my best with what I had, even if I didn't have enough or a lot.

That's how I ended up here, in my bathtub. I mean, one does not simply just go and sit in his bathtub for fun. I had a reason. I was unbalanced. I had been ever since I met him, ever since he changed me and who I was. Ever since he decided to come into my life, create havoc, and destroy everything I had ever created. The walls that I had built, the standards I kept, and the goals I wanted to meet… they were all shattered and changed when I met him. He gave me courage and strength. He loved me for me. He made me feel things I had never felt before, and now he was gone. More like he was simply not present. He wasn't dead, I think. He wasn't with another woman or man, I hope. At this moment, I simply existed because I didn't know how to live. I fought with myself to get out of bed in the morning. I fought with myself to eat at least once a day. I fought with myself to go out into the world and try. I fought with myself to try to get things back to normal and change back and pretend things never happened. But how could I?

I remember the last time we talked. We were sitting on the bed, pillows in our lap, holding each other's hands. I was crying and so was he. He had come home that night, heavy hearted and full of sorrow. He looked distraught and preoccupied. I was cooking dinner on the stove, and was preparing for the worst. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he simply shook his head and took off his coat. He laid it on the armrest of the dining room chair and came back into the kitchen. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine. He handed me my glass while he downed his. He poured himself another glass; drank that one twice as fast. He set his glass down and the bottle of wine and came up behind me and held my waist. I hadn't noticed he had been crying until a tear fell on my neck. One right after the other. It was a constant flow of sadness onto my person, and I didn't know how to react. He asked me to turn off the burner and come sit down. Not wanting to upset him anymore, I complied. He took my hand and we slowly walked to the bedroom. He sat at the edge and placed his hands on his knees and his head in his hands. I hear a quiet sob come from him. He wasn't one to cry, so this greatly surprised me. I sat next to him and placed my head on his shoulder and my hand on his arm. I was attempting to comfort him, but it was no use, he was too troubled. He slowly sat up straight and took my hands in his, and that's how we got to the pillows. He looked me in the eyes with the saddest expression and the heaviest eyes.

"John…" He said quietly, as if afraid to speak at all. Like if he spoke to loudly he would disturb the balance of things and create mass destruction. He sighed heavily, attempting to start again, only to have tears steadily stream down his face. "John, listen. I've just gotten some news. I've gotten some news about Moriarty." He stopped and looked down.

"What about him, Sherlock? What's happened?" I could feel myself start to shake a little. Any mention of his name was a bad sign. Sherlock never got worked up about anything, let alone Moriarty. "Sherlock, just talk to me." I brushed a strand of hair away from his face. I took his face in my hands and steadied him. "Look at me. It's okay." I whispered. That's when he collapsed.

"But it's not John! I can't tell you. But I need to! John! Things are about to change. Not simple changes like the brand of milk I never by. Big changes. He going to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. He's going to kill the people closest to me if I don't die." He was shouting. Not just shouting but full on yelling. Arms flailing, tears flowing, everything about him was super tense. He was angry and upset and he didn't like that. This was obviously affecting him a lot more than I assumed it was.

"Sherlock, sit down please. Just breathe." I said softly. And so he did. "What do you mean? I'm still trying to process this all. How did you even come to this conclusion? Is there something I'm missing?" I was clearly puzzled. I always miss things. It's not that I mean to, I'm just not as observant as Sherlock.

"No, John. You haven't been missing anything because I haven't been telling you the whole truth. And I observed it." And here we were with the observing. I wasn't going to fight about the observing tonight. No, but it still irritated me. "He's been slowly hinting at it for weeks now. And with the girl the other day; I knew he was up to something. I couldn't figure out what until it made sense. He's trying to destroy me. Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain, no? And it was all too good to be true. So here he is. He said it himself. He would burn my heart. But he has to kill the people I love to get to my heart. I've got it all figured out though. I do. Or at least I hope I do. I always do. I just can't tell you. You've got to promise me you won't be mad in the end. Can you promise me that? Please John. I'm begging you." He had gone from loud to quiet to barely audible. He had stopped crying, but apparently I had started. He wiped a tear from my face. A few actually before I even realized it.

"Sherlock, I won't be mad. I could never be mad at you." And then we laid back. He just held each other for what seemed like an eternity, and I liked it. Little did I know that this was going to be my last night with him. My last night of comfort and sanity. My last night of semi-normality. What had turned into my perfect fairytale was apparently crumbling and I had only noticed when it was too late. He we were, walls crashing to the ground, hearts slowly breaking. I couldn't even fathom what he was things, but as I look back I realize how hard it must have been for him. He knew at that moment that this was his last with me, at least for a while. He knew what was going to happen. He knew how things were going to change. He knew it was going to ruin me, but he couldn't do anything about it. He was trying to save me, not hurt me.

The next day was the day; the day that changed it all. How could I know? I thought I had more time with him. I thought maybe one more day. Hopefully two, but alas, no. This was it. When he called me and stopped me and told me to turn around, I hadn't realized it was the end. When he said it was his note, my heart began to sink. This was it. I was losing my best friend and my lover. I was losing everything in that moment. And that's how we got here.


	2. Chapter 2

6 Months Later

"John, you are going to have to talk to me at some point you know. That's what I'm here for." She looked up at me and smiled. She was trying to help and trying to be nice, but I didn't want the help and I sure as Hell wasn't buying that smile.

"I understand you are trying to help, but I'm talking to someone already. I'm just here, because in order to keep my job, I have to come see you at least once a week." I wasn't trying to sound rude, or snarky, I was just unhappy. I was unhappy with a lot of things, but I didn't want to be here which was making me unhappier. I crossed my hands in my lap and looked down. Damn, now I'm starting to cry. What is this? I'm so emotional.

"Who are you talking to John?" She picked up her pen as if she was going to write something down and then she stopped. "Are you crying?" She seemed puzzled. This was the first sign of emotion I had shown since we started. I had always come in here and put up a front. I tried to be a shell and I tried not to care. But how couldn't I care? My life had changed so drastically, and I wasn't normal and I obviously needed the help. I just refused to ask for it. That's why when Sherlock was around, I was okay. He was my help. I was always busy with him and he just made things better, but then the fall happened and I didn't know what to do.

I wiped the tears away from my eyes, trying to hide my pain. "It's no one. It's nothing. He's a friend. All of them are. We kind of decided since we all lost the same person that meant so much to us, it would be a good idea to meet once a week to just talk about how things were going." This wasn't a lie. I wanted to make up a lie, but this wasn't a lie. I was meeting once a week with someone. Well, not just someone, a handful of someone's. We had all lost Sherlock and it was hard on all of us, that was very apparent. So we decided it would be a good plan to meet at someone's house once every week, for two sometimes three hours. We've been doing is since the fall. I had realized it, but I began to cry harder. I got up from my chair and walked to the window. Outside it was raining. Not a heavy rain, just light enough to make it gloomy. I turned back around and stared at my brown chair. My indent was still present. It reminded me of Sherlock. I was like my chair, and he the indent. Though he wasn't alive, he still left an indent in my life. I sank to the ground and cried harder.

Leah set her pen and clipboard down and came and sat by me. "John, it's okay to cry. Just tell me what's on your mind. Let me help you." She said softly. She handed me a tissue. And there we sat for a few moments, backs against the window, tears streaming down my face. I took a deep breath trying to calm myself but it was no use. Sherlock was in my mind.

"Well, here's the thing. There is just so much in here," I poked at my forehead, "And it's just so hard to explain." I shook, violently. I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them. What had gotten into me? This wasn't like me at all! Well, it was to an extent.

"Then form words John! Anything, just give me anything. One problem at a time. Or all of them. Just give me something to work with. Please." I had been seeing Leah for almost six months now. My therapist. And I hadn't said barely one word to her. I said "Hello." Then I sat down and stared at her, mostly because I didn't know where to start. Partly because I didn't know what to say. I had seen a therapist before, before I met Sherlock. Then Mycroft told me to fire her, and I did. But now I had to see one, but I got a different one. Mycroft even recommended her.

"Sherlock. Fall. Death. Sadness. Hurt. Love. Pain. I don't know! There aren't many words to form! I don't know what to say or how to feel. I just don't know right now. There is just so many emotions that I'm feeling all at once." I had stood up, pushed myself off the wall and began yelling. I didn't mean to, it's just that sometimes it gets to hard to be quiet about things.

"Good John! Good! Tell me about Sherlock. What..." She then stopped. The timer had gone off and our time was over.

"Well, I guess I'll see you next week then. Goodbye Leah." I grabbed my coat and turned the doorknob, trying to leave as fast as I could.

"John, you've mad wonderful progress. Next week, we'll work with those words. At this rate, if you keep this up, you won't have to see me for much longer. Goodbye and have a good day." I bolted out of there as soon as she said goodbye. I wanted to do nothing more than to go home and not be here. I just wanted to be anywhere but here. My wounds which I had covered with band aid's, that I had slowly been picking at, had now been exposed. All of my open wounds.

The drive home seemed longer than normal. Probably because it felt like life was moving in slow motion. I watched people pass by, so happy and so unaware. I parked in my normal parking spot and walked to the door. The same door that had begun it all. I still lived in our flat. I hadn't changed anything, I hadn't redecorated, I hadn't done anything with the place. I just left it as it was. I trudged up the stairs, said hi to Mrs. Hudson, and went to my arm chair. I picked up my computer, set it down again, and cried. I cried for a few hours, or so it felt like it when there was a soft knock on the door.

"John darling, I hate to interrupt, but Greg is here." I got up and walked to the doorway. Mrs. Hudson then hugged me like a mother would a son. "I know darling, I know. It's good to let it out sometimes. I usually cry in the shower. And when I go to the fridge, so it's okay. Let me make you and Greg some tea."She let go of the embrace and patted me on the back. She then quickly turned to get Greg and make tea. I just leaned against the frame of the door.

"Hello John." Greg Lestrade wasn't a mean man, nor was he gruff. He was just Lestrade.

"Hello Greg, how are you?" We shook hands and I lead him to the chair.

"The same as I was last week." We chuckled. We were both the same as we were last week. And the week before and the week before that. We weren't necessarily one's to share our feelings with each other, unless we were in our group. Yes, Lestrade was in our weekly meeting group. He had been the one to suggest it actually. "Is everyone coming over tonight?"

I looked at my watch, swore under my breath and got up. I walked to the door again. "Mrs. Hudson! Would you mind making a few more cups of tea? Everyone is coming over tonight. I must have forgotten." I yelled down the stairs. I heard a faint 'Yes deary! I can do that.' And then I swiveled to Lestrade. "Damn. I keep forgetting that it's Friday. My appointment with Leah was changed to today, so it's kind of thrown me off." I sat back down.

"How was..." He was cut off by a knock at the door frame.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Hello." Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's older brother. Also someone to be in our group. So we had the Detective Inspector and the brother. We just needed...

"Hi guys, sorry I'm late. Am I late?" Molly Hooper. And this was everyone.

"Please, um, take a seat. Hello everyone, yes. Hello."

"So how was it today John? The meeting with Leah?" Lestrade picked up again. He had gotten up to great everyone then reclaimed his seat.

"Yes John. How was it?" Molly and Mycroft chimed in.

"It was," and I paused. Do I tell them how things went? Do I not? These were my friends after all, the only friends I had left. "Interesting. Very interesting. I uh, I um, I cried today. The whole session. I did. I made progress." That sounded so weird and so awkward. "She said I won't have to see her much longer if I keep making progress." Still weird and still awkward. And then the tears came. Out of no where. I don't ever cry in front of people, and here I was, crying again. First in front of Leah, the Mrs. Hudson walked in, now these people. They probably thing I'm a coward, or soft. Maybe emotional. I am emotional. That would actually be true. But ever week we met, I had never cried. Ever. None of us did. We just sat and talked about how our week has been. Sometimes Sherlock was brought up, sometimes he wasn't. "I just, I'm sorry. I don't know what has come over me today. I've cried three times now and I believe three times is enough." But that didn't stop me from crying. I stood up and walked to the door frame. I leaned against it, backs turned to them. I whipped around. "No, it's okay for me to cry. I has been six months since Sherlock has died and I can damn well cry about it. Yes I can." I looked up and was shocked. Well, mostly. I wasn't shocked that Molly had started crying. She sometimes calls me crying and asks to just talk, which is nice. I love being there for her. But to see Greg and Mycroft cry, it was eye opening.

Mycroft had lost his brother for Christs sakes and I didn't even know how he was really doing. He had silent tears running down his face. Then there was Lestrade. He had lost a good worker. Well, sort of worker. Sherlock didn't work for him, just with him. He had lost a good man. He was also silently crying. I handed everyone a tissue.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I've just been needing to get things off my chest. I hadn't realized I would chose tonight to do so." I sat back in my chair.

"No. It's good. Fine even. I think we've all needed a good cry. Thank you." Lestrade had spoken up. He had cleared his throat and blew his nose.

"I miss him so much!" Molly sobbed. She had loved him. Even when Sherlock and I became a "thing", she still loved him. "I know he was himself and it was hard for him to express some things, it's just that he was a good friend to me regardless." She sobbed again.

Mycroft had gotten up. He smoothed his suit and walked over to the door. "Thank you everyone, but I think I need to just step out and take a breath. I think I might go home actually. I apologize." He then walked out.

"Mycroft!" I yelled. "Wait." I tried to run to him, but he had already made it through the front door.

"I'm sorry John, but I think I'm going to go too." Lestrade shook my hand and was out. I hadn't even realized it had been two hours. I sighed.

"We all handle things differently. Mycroft likes to make himself a rock and harden up. Lestrade does too, but sometimes he cries. I know he does. I've seen him silently cry in his office. And me? Well, I cry all the time. It's almost expected of me since I'm the girl, but that's just how I express my anger and frustration. You though, you use a lot of different techniques, which is good. I just wish I could help everyone and fix everything. I just don't know how. It's been a lovely evening John, and I'm glad you could express what you have been feeling, for the most part. If you need anything, I'm just a phone call away." Molly got up, smiled, and kissed me on the cheek. "Goodnight John. I'll see you next week." And then the house was empty. Save for Mrs. Hudson who was down stairs. I hadn't even realized she had brought up the tea.

I went back to my chair and gingerly sat in it. I think it's time for bed.

I laid there for about an hour before drifting off into sleep. A nightmare again. This one was more vivid and horrific than the previous one's.

I was standing next to Sherlock, watching the whole scene play out. He was on the roof of St. Bart's, and there I was on the ground looking up at him. Now that I was close to him, I could see the tears streaming down his face. I couldn't see them from where I was on the ground, but now I could. He threw his phone on the ground. This was it.

"Sherlock, wait." I reached out to touch him. But I was too late. We were both falling. Both headed for the ground. Then we both hit. And then I was sucked into another dream. It was still Sherlock dying, more or less killing himself, but in different ways. It was him taking the pill with the driver. It was him being shot by the American officer. It was just him dying over and over and over again.

I had started to cry in my sleep. All these tears recently. And the last dream. This once. Sherlock and I had never made love to one another, mostly because Sherlock had asked not to until he was ready. So this dream stung the most.

We were making love in this dream. It was beautiful, but I was still crying in my dream. So we had stopped and Sherlock just held me.

"John, what's wrong?" He whispered softly in my ear. "Let me fix it."

And before I could answer, I was back at the bottom of St. Bard's with dead Sherlock in my hands. 'One more miracle for me Sherlock, please.'

I woke up screaming that. Poor Mrs. Hudson probably thought something was wrong. I rolled out of bed and wiped my tears, again. I walked over to the dresser and opened it. There sat a gun. A small hand gun that was powerful enough to kill someone instantly. But I wasn't going to kill myself, at least not tonight. I grabbed the blade next to it though. I hated feeling all this pain on the inside, so I would occasionally cut to bring the pain on the outside. I was a grown man and knew how to handle my feelings, but sometimes it just wasn't enough.

I lifted up my shirt and found my previous markings. There were eight, neatly aligned on my chest. Eight cuts for every letter in Sherlock's name. I started a row below it for ever letter in his last name. Holmes. So now there were six more neat, wonderful little cuts. The blood trickled down my sick. My little secret. I watched the blood drip for a few moments more and them I rinsed them off and went back to bed. I didn't want to fall asleep though. I was afraid to close my eyes, because unfortunately, I knew what awaited.


	3. Chapter 3

This is very trigger happy. So please, if you might have problems, be ware. It's getting intense, but I will say nothing more.

* * *

I slipped back into uneasy sleep. I would wake up and panic, then slowly drift back into the painful darkness that awaited. This needed to end. Now. And badly. But I was making progress, Leah told me that today! I just needed to hold on longer, but how could I? This was too painful. I had lost everything. Yes, I had my job, but I was starting to lose that. My appearance, if one at all, was not good when I showed up. I would show up drunk sometimes and other's I would just sit in my office and cry.

This lasted all through the night. And because I hadn't slept at all, I called in sick. My fifth time this week. Surprise, surprise!

I slowly and gingerly moved to the arm chair. I was almost there when I caught glimpse of something in the corner. I walked over to it and picked it up. Oh yes, Sherlock's violin case. I moved to my chair and sat down. I held in my lap the most precious of things to Sherlock. I opened it. He violin and his bow, and wrapped around it was his scarf. I was going to bury him with his scarf, but I needed to keep it, so I did. And here it was. His beloved scarf and his beloved violin. I closed the case and held it tight. I decided today I wasn't going to cry, so I held on for one minute longer, then I set it back. And since I was up, I decided to venture to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

I couldn't bring myself to do it though. I put the kettle on, but went to sit back down. When it whistled, I left it. Sherlock and I sometimes drank tea at this time together. The same kettle would boil water and the same thing would happen. We never drank our tea. We were always called away, but not today. Not for the past six months. I let the kettle whistle until it was unbearable. Then I got up and ran to it and just placed it in the sink. I couldn't handle it. So. Much. Pain.

So I decided I was going to go for a stroll in the park, but that too lead to memories of Sherlock. Everything lead to Sherlock, so I lead myself back to bed.

I again tried to sleep, but I couldn't. The nightmares were consuming me whole. I took two sleeping pills and a shot of Whiskey before I tried to sleep again. That would do the trick. Two hours later, when I was still struggling to sleep, I did it again. It was now ten o'clock on Friday morning. I hadn't slept four whole hours all week. I laid back down. 12 o'clock and two more pills and another shot of Whiskey. 2 o'clock and more pills and more shots.

8 o'clock had rolled around. I had been struggling all day. And how was I not dead yet? I had consumed 14 sleeping pills and now I was all out. I had consumed seven shots of Whiskey, and that too was all gone. I was drunk, disoriented, and confused. Also very tired. I just wanted to sleep, but his damn face haunted me. Every time I shut my eyes. Every time I looked in a mirror. He was everywhere. And I wasn't going to take it anymore.

I got up and dragged myself to the phone. I rang Lestrade, but no answer. The same went for Molly and Mycroft. I yelled downstairs for Mrs. Hudson, but nothing yelled back. I went back to my room and sat at the edge of my bed. My sheets were ruffled and covered with sweat and struggle. My struggle. It represented me and my pain. My sheets longed to be put back, put right. And so did I.

I put my head in my hands. I ran my fingers through my hair. I cried for an hour. I yelled. I screamed. I hit things, I broke things. I laid on the floor. I cried some more. I felt nothing anymore. And at that moment, when I realized I couldn't feel anything, I knew it was time. It was time to join my beloved Sherlock Holmes.

I grabbed my John and went to my arm chair. I also grabbed Sherlock's violin case. I phoned Lestrade again, but I got nothing. This was it. I laid the violin case open so I could see the contents inside. I wrapped Sherlock's scarf around my neck and laid next to it.

Through clenched teeth, "Well Sherlock, you got a note, so here is mine. You were everything to me. I loved you. You were my best friend. I can't live without you, so I'm not going to anymore. I need you. I need you more than anything in the world, but you aren't here and I can't deal with it. I am a soldier and soldiers don't quit. But I am in too much fucking pain. So this is it. This is my note. You, me, and God are witness. I'm coming home to be with you. I love you."

I placed the gun to my temple, said a silent prayer, and told Sherlock I loved him one more time. Then the phone rang. That wasn't going to stop me though, absolutely not. I cocked the gun, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.

Jammed.

God damn it! Fucking jammed! I got up and threw the gun across the room. Fucking jammed! It would happen. So I grabbed it again. I got it to work again. This time it would work. I decided to take a few more pain killers, maybe helping this go smoother. I also drank a glass of Scotch, okay, maybe two. Terrible idea. My hands began to tremble as I laid down next to the case again.

I again placed the gun to my temple, said a silent prayer, and told Sherlock I loved him one more time. Then I shot.


	4. Chapter 4

"No, I tell you, I found him like this. Yes, I know. No, I didn't. You think I would do this? Bloody Hell! What's wrong with you? Sorry, I apologize. Stress. Yes, a lot of stress. I can't help that. How did I know? I knew something was wrong when he called me twice, and Molly and Mycroft. Then I knew something was even more wrong when he didn't answer my phone calls or call me back. I phoned six times and even had Molly and Mycroft phone. I called Mrs. Hudson, the land lady and she said she was out in Dublin. So I rushed over to the flat. I knocked on the door but I didn't get an answer, so I knocked again and again. I called Molly and Mycroft and had them race over to the flat too. By the time they had gotten there, I had busted down the door and called for a bus. I checked for a pulse and he was still alive. Barely. He was hanging on by a thread. God! I could have prevented this. I knew I should have stayed. I knew there was something wrong. I should have helped and I should have done more. I know I shouldn't blame myself, but I will. We are all feeling something from when Sherlock, well... er... um... jumped. Yes, I knew John was probably effected the most. They were in love! They had changed each others lives. For the better? Sure. For the worst? Sure. I knew like something like this was going to happen. Damn it! Excuse me please." Lestrade, that good man. Here he was losing another good friend, and he could only blame himself. So many questions asked of him, so little answers he knew.

Lestrade was the first on the scene. He had rushed over from work, a late night. A case only Sherlock would be able to crack. A case he had had for weeks. I had phoned his in the middle of a meeting, that's why he didn't get my calls. Mycroft was in the middle of something government related, and Molly? I wasn't sure about Molly. She hadn't been in the room yet, nor had she spoken to the police. Naturally the police was Lestrade, but not for this. He couldn't be seen as the Inspector for this. He wasn't in charge this time, and I think that hurt him too. He wanted to get to the bottom of things. All of them did. They assumed I was fine. And Leah, she wasn't all that shocked. I remember her speaking to one of the officers. It was faint, but I could still make out what they were saying.

"He had broken down in session that day. Yeah, tears and anger, everything. He was a wreck. Did I figure this would happen? Yes and no. I knew he was unstable, but he's a wise man. A soldier. He just doesn't give up like that. That's what confuses me the most. He was, sorry, is a brave man. He wouldn't pull this stunt for any reason unless he really felt he couldn't handle it and it was time to go. But even then, it just shocks me."

I can't remember what happened after that. I know things got really dark, and because there was no light, I assumed I wasn't dead. Just sleeping. Which was okay I guess. I didn't really care at this point. What was there to care about? I has friends, granted. And they were all here worried about me. All but Sherlock. But he was the primary reason I was in here. I was ready to join him.

I then woke to a commotion. Not fully awake, a sort of euphoria or limbo. It was like I wasn't even there, but I could see everything happening. It was an out of body experience, a very strange out of body experience. I was standing next to myself, holding my hand actually. I could see all the machines and all the wires. And the bandage over my face. It was covering my forehead and up. There was a faint spot of pink where the bullet would have penetrated my scalp.

But I wasn't focused on that. I wasn't focused on how weird I looked, or how many wires there were or anything. I was focused on the faces of everyone around my body. They had this look. Not a sad look, or a concerned look, but a confused look. Lestrade looked ghastly. Almost like he was going to be needing a hospital bed soon. Mycroft had tears streaming down his face I think. And Molly, she was standing in the doorway. Not totally smiling, apparent tears on her face. Her looked confused me the most back that didn't matter. They were all staring at something, but it wasn't me. It was the person near me. Not the out of body experience me, mostly because they couldn't see that person, but the actual living, breathing human next to my body.

"Get out of my way. He's friend." He had said. And then, everything went black again.

* * *

Sorry for it being so short and for posting so late. I've been busy, so I apologize. I hope you did enjoy it, for how short it was...


End file.
